The Upside to Being on the Dark Side
by XxX-Prongs-XxX
Summary: How it had happened, he still wasn’t quite sure. How he, master of evil, the perfect picture of maliciousness, a true, perfectandpureblood Slytherin, had fallen in love with—what he thought then—filthy bloodtraitor scum, he didn’t know for certain. But he


**The Upside of Being on the Dark Side**

**A fan fiction by Amanda Avery **

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Chapter One: Learning the Lesson of Obedience **

Draco Salazar Malfoy slid into a long, black cloak with a look of deceit upon his pale—but nonetheless attractive—face. He ran his fingers through his white-blonde hair before pulling a mask over his face. _This is it_, he thought. He pulled his wand out of his pocket, slipped silently out the door of his "hideout"—which was really just an abandoned Muggle trailer—and locked it wordlessly. After checking that he was absolutely alone, he swiftly ran, his wand aloft, along the edge of the forest. Not a sound was heard except for the nocturnal crickets making their music, and his ragged, unsteady breathing. He ran for a little while, and then abruptly stopped at a rather large oak tree. He surveyed the oak for a moment, as if he were a computer program scanning files for a virus. He looked up at a thick, twisted branch, and saw what he was looking for: a scull carved into the bark, with a snake protruding out of its mouth. Draco ran his fingers along the inside of his left forearm subconsciously, before nonverbally performing a complicated, little-known spell on the tree, which caused a square, door-sized opening to appear in the center of the large trunk. Inside the hollow trunk was completely dark. Draco stepped inside, thought _Lumos_, and his wand tip suddenly lit up, lightening the inside of the hollow tree. Before him was a stone flight of stairs leading down into the ground, down into darkness. He jumped slightly as a rat scampered out of a crack in the wall and scurried down the stairs. The rat stopped after a few steps, as if to be sure that Draco was following him. Draco breathed in deeply the damp scent of mold before following it.

In an attempt to distract his mind from the task that lay ahead, Draco began counting the stairs as he and the rat descended. _Five, six, seven, eight. . . ._

Unfortunately, the counting did not seem to keep his mind from the questions that were—against his will—floating around in his brain.

Would he punish Draco for not completing his first assignment?

_Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen. . . ._

Would Severus Snape—his Most Trusted Servant, as he was widely known among the Death Eaters—be punished for helping Draco in his task?

_Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. . . ._

Would he punish Draco's mother for coming to Severus for help? Severus knew of his plan, but Narcissa was ordered to tell no one, regardless of whether or not the person she confided in knew of it or not.

_Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two. . . ._ They had finally arrived at their destination: a stone door with a stain-glass window bearing the Dark Mark. Draco knocked three times with a shaking left hand, while holding his wand higher despite the fact that it would do him no good against someone as powerful as the one he was about to face.

"Enter," said a cold, high-pitched voice that sounded rather snakelike. Draco pushed the door open, his heart pounding, and began to look around him, while thinking _Nox_ to put out his wand. There was a fireplace blazing comfortably warm and crackling flames, two dark red armchairs—which Draco couldn't help but think looked exactly like the color of blood—which were seated at an angle, facing the fireplace. There was a table in the far left corner with candles on it, and a window that showed the black night sky outside. (Draco suspected that this window was enchanted, like the ones at the Ministry, since they were in fact underground.) There was a beautiful candelabrum hanging above the chairs, each of its candle-holders a silver serpent with a candle inside its open mouth.

"Sit down, Young Mr. Malfoy," said Lord Voldemort from his chair by the fire, beckoning with a long, pale finger. Draco swallowed hard, lowered his wand, and did as he was told. He looked into his master's red eyes—which were very bright, despite the fact that Draco still had his mask on—and waited.

"How kind of you to join us, Wormtail," Voldemort said sardonically, turning to the rat, who was now sitting on the rug in between the two chairs. "Resume your usual form and fix myself and Mr. Malfoy a drink."

Draco watched with unflinching eyes as the rat called Wormtail changed its form from rodent to human. After bowing low repeatedly, Wormtail rushed over to the table and pulled his wand out. He conjured a tall bottle of what Draco thought looked like red wine. Again Draco couldn't help but think that the color resembled blood a little more than he was comfortable with. He was used to wine: living in a rich family—even as a young child—one got used to drinking wine on a normal basis. It was the deep, blood-red color that sent shivers up and down Draco's spine, and he didn't know quite why.

Wormtail placed the wine and two tall glasses on a silver platter and waddled his way over to Voldemort and Draco. He conjured a small black coffee table between them and placed the tray on it, bowing again.

"Thank you, Wormtail," said Voldemort silkily, though Draco couldn't help but think that he didn't mean it. "Your services are no longer required. Return to your post outside."

Wormtail bowed low again, kissed the hems of his master's robes and transformed. Once again in his rat disguise, he scurried up to the door, pushed it open with his nose, and ran into the darkness, the door shutting with a small_ thud_ behind him. Draco pulled his mask off, ran his fingers through his hair, and looked into the catlike eyes of Lord Voldemort, expecting the worst.

"You have doubts, Young Draco?" he asked. His voice was high, but it had the immediate obedience quality to it; if anyone were to hear Voldemort's voice, they would instantly turn their heads in his direction—anyone with brains and a will to live, that is.

"Doubts about what, my Lord?" asked Draco, his heart pounding.

"Certainly you are concerned about the fate of your mother and father?" Voldemort asked in mock-concern, his voice already reaching high levels of cruelty. "I am sure that you are worried that I will harm them, because of what you have done. Or, rather, what you failed to do."

"Yes, my Lord," Draco murmured, inclining his head.

"You did fail to complete your task, you do realize this." Voldemort raised his eyebrows and looked at him. When Draco nodded silently, too nervous to speak, Voldemort continued: "And I am sure that you will accept the consequences, Draco. You do not seem to grasp that one rule—the most important rule of all—can get you into the most trouble if you do not obey it. What is the rule? _Voldemort's word is law._ It cannot be that difficult for you to understand. What was my word? Kill Dumbledore. Did you do it? No you did not. So I am certain—one hundred percent certain—that you will accept responsibility for your faults, take the necessary punishments, and do the right thing next time. Am I correct in saying so, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Yes, my Lord, you are," said Draco, and his heartbeat slowed a little. _So he isn't going to kill me_, he thought, _but what about Mother and Father?_

"No, Draco, I am not going to kill you or your parents," said Voldemort with a malicious drawl. "I am, however, going to punish your mother for seeking help when she should not have, and punish you for not completing the task that you were assigned. Fair enough, Mr. Malfoy, don't you agree?"

"Yes, Master," Draco muttered. "What is to be my punishment?"

"Ah, yes. I had a feeling we would arrive at that soon. . . ." Voldemort smiled. His eyes glistened in such an evil way that just looking at them gave Draco goose bumps. "Stand up, Draco, in the middle of the floor."

Slowly Draco rose from his chair and turned, facing his master. He backed away a few steps until he was sure he was square in the middle of the room. He took a deep breath and stared Voldemort in the eyes, his jaw set.

Voldemort raiser his wand and gave Draco a look of pure evil, a look that said, "I don't care about you, but you're useful enough."

He gave Draco a malevolent smirk before pointing his wand squarely at Draco's chest and saying, "It is time you were taught a lesson in obedience, Mr. Malfoy. _Crucio_!"

Draco fell on the floor, rolling around in unbearable pain. It felt like white-hot knives were stabbing at every inch of his body, over and over again. Over his screams of agony, Draco could hear Voldemort's high-pitched cruel laugh. Draco prayed in his head for it to stop, for it to end. The pain was absolutely excruciating, and he didn't know how much longer he could last. After all, being tortured to insanity—like Neville's parents— was the very last thing he wanted.

Then, suddenly, it stopped. Draco fell limp on the mold-smelling rug, trying to steady his breathing. He could hear Voldemort trying to suppress his laughter. Draco licked his lips, the taste of blood making him feel sick to his stomach. Slowly, shakily, he rose to his feet. He grabbed hold of his armchair to steady himself, suddenly overwhelmed with nausea. He swallowed and took a deep breath.

"Did you like that, Mr. Malfoy?" Voldemort gave Draco an evil smile, as if he enjoyed every minute of watching him suffer.

"No, my Lord," Draco muttered softly. When he spoke it made his stomach lurch uncomfortably.

"I should think not. If you do not want it to happen again, I suggest you do as you are told from now on. Alright. We are moving on to your upcoming assignment." Voldemort stopped and beckoned Draco to his seat, where Draco plopped down and took a gulp of his wine. He leaned his head back against the chair before taking another drink and asking, "What is my assignment, Master?" Draco cringed slightly as his stomach gave another lurch of pain.

"I am sure that your father's absence has a rather large impact on you—you are his only son after all. So, exactly three weeks from today, you will assist in a mass Azkaban breakout. I will rally about twenty or thirty more Death Eaters, and they will all break into Azkaban and help others—only our fellow Death Eaters, you understand—escape and join forces with me. If you should come across anyone who is willing to serve me in return for their escape, bring them directly here. Your part is to bring the soon-to-be Death Eaters to me so that I can brand them with the Dark Mark, and give them orders. Is that clear, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Yes, Master."

"Alright, you may go. I will see you in three weeks."

"Yes, Master . . . goodbye, Master." He bowed low, put his mask on his head and departed for home.

Draco burst through the front door of his trailer and plopped down on a low brown couch. He took off his mask and ran his fingers through his hair again. With a groan of frustration, he walked to the kitchen and opened the simple, off-white refrigerator. Draco pulled out a tall bottle of sherry and took a glass from the nearest cabinet. He filled the glass almost to the top, returned the sherry to the fridge, and took a long, refreshing gulp. "Ahh."

He drained his glass and slammed it onto the counter. He slumped to his room and dropped onto the bed, thinking about the year that must lie ahead.

Suddenly there was a scratching sound at the door. Draco sat bolt upright, instantly as alert as a cat at a mouse hole. He whipped out his wand and raced to the front door. Upon opening it, Draco saw a common brown barn owl.

"What the hell?" he muttered. No one knew where he was hiding, so Draco had reason to be suspicious. He took a fold of parchment from the owl's leg and watched it take flight.

He unrolled the parchment and read the official, familiar writing he saw usually once a year:

_Dear Mr. Malfoy,_

_What happened last term was an absolute tragedy. We lost our Headmaster, Professor Albus Dumbledore, and we lost our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Severus Snape. I understand that you played a role in the scheme, though that is all I know. I would like to inform you that there will always be a place here at Hogwarts for you. Please consider returning on September 1. _

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Headmistress_

Draco read through the letter a few times, just to make sure it was real. He was allowed to come back to Hogwarts? He thought that after the whole Snape-Dumbledore fiasco he would be banned.


End file.
